


The Fragility of Now

by squirrel_loves_wings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anxiety, BAMF Castiel (Supernatural), BAMF Dean Winchester, Bottom Dean, Canon-Typical Violence, Complicated Relationships, Cynical Castiel, Desperation, Doctor Castiel, End of the World, Fear, Fear of inadiquacy, Homeschooled Dean, I suck at tags, Implied Switching, Loss, M/M, Oral Sex, Rebuilding, SPN Dystopia Bang, SPN Dystopia Bang 2018, Secrets, Sex, Strangers to Lovers, Survival, Survivalist Dean Winchester, Survivor Guilt, Top Castiel, finding community
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 03:15:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14991563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squirrel_loves_wings/pseuds/squirrel_loves_wings
Summary: The end of the world happened faster than anyone could have predicted and it took 98.8% of the population with it. The virus that killed the world only took a single week to claim its victims and then everything went silent. Castiel has lost everything and in his grief has started walking across the US, aimless, trying to forget everything that's happened. When he's ambushed by a group of bandits, Cas thinks his time's finally up, but he's rescued by a stranger who's possibly more dangerous than the men trying to kill him. As he gets to know his savior, Dean, and he finds a new community to belong to, to help, he begins to long for even more. But a terrible secret threatens to destroy everything and enemies are poised to destroy Cas' new, fragile life, and he will do everything within his power to save it.





	The Fragility of Now

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my contribution to the SPN Dystopia Bang 2018! My AMAZING artist is [AnyRei](http://anyrei.tumblr.com) and you should go check out her stuff, both writing and art! She had to deal with a high level of drama from me on this one and she was never anything less than supportive and enthusiastic. I wouldn't have made it as far as I did without her! **HUGS**
> 
> This story is not over. I have a lot more to tell for these two in this verse, so bookmark for updates! And for those of you still waiting for an epilogue to Angel Rescue... It's still in the works, I promise!
> 
> See the end notes for a trigger warning.

Cas stood and kicked apart the remains of his fire. Breakfast had been an unsatisfying can of Dinty Moore Beef Stew, but he was used to it. Dinty Moore seemed to have fared best in the apocalypse. Cas could find it basically anywhere he went. Or maybe that meant it had fared the worst, that people had avoided it in those initial days of panic and left it behind for him to find now, when there was no one left to clamor for anything. It was a question he bent his mind toward when he was feeling especially philosophical.

There were a few embers still glowing in the wood Cas had scattered but he didn't bother snuffing them out. In the beginning, when he'd been new to this, new to building fires on abandoned sidewalks in abandoned towns, he'd been careful - he might even go so far as to admit fastidiousness - to put out every ember. His Boy Scout fire safety training rearing its head after so many years dormant. But now he was tired and he didn't care. And it didn't matter. Let it all burn. Who was he trying to save it for?

Bitterly, he kicked a good sized chunk that still glowed red into a patch of weeds.

 _Let's see how much more destruction I can leave in my wake_ , he thought, his lip curled unconsciously in disgust. _What's one more town?_

He didn't linger to see if the embers would catch in the weeds. He didn't care. Either these buildings would burn or they wouldn't. If they did, no one was around to mourn them. If they didn't, no one was around to enjoy them. His moment of childish petulance, in the end, amounted to nothing. He only wished all his decisions had amounted to so little.

Cas left the town, following the largest road. When he met the next main road he pulled a worn d10 die from his pocket and tossed it into the intersection and let it choose his next direction. If he rolled 0, he'd go back the way he'd come. One through three he'd go right, four through six he'd go straight, and seven through nine he'd go left. If it was an oddball intersection with more than four options, he'd make up a system on the spot before looking at the number he'd rolled. It didn't matter. He wasn't going anywhere; he had no destination in mind. He was walking because he could. He was walking to see the destruction that had been wrought on the country.  He walked for penance and punishment.

The die landed on five. Cas scooped it up and tucked it back into his pocket as he continued straight on what had been US 60 out of unremembered, unlamented Cabool, Missouri. Cas didn't bother to look behind him to see if the embers had caught.

:::::::

He sat up straight, still half asleep, blinking into the dark. The moon had set and the fire he'd built to heat dinner had burned out, so there wasn't any light for him to see by, but he strained his ears. Something had woken him up. And then he heard it, the cry of some cat of prey. It was terrible, something metallic and electric about it at the same time, and it sent a shiver of atavistic fear up his spine. There was no hiding from that, instinct told him. Still, he rolled to his side and groped in the dark for his pack. He had a gun in there and a full magazine. He'd never had call to use it, but occasionally he'd come across a former zoo animal who was either hungry or looking to exact some revenge for a lifetime of imprisonment, and it made him feel better to have it. A part of him longed for a human to train it on, just so he could see another person.

The scraping, raspy cry sounded again, closer this time, and Cas pulled out the gun and inserted the magazine. The weight of it felt good in his hands, made him feel a little bit safer. He briefly considered climbing the tree to avoid it before he remembered that most predatory cats could climb them as well. So he just hunched there against the trunk of the tree he'd been sleeping under, trying not to breathe too hard and clutching the gun to his chest.

The yowl sounded again, only this time it sounded a little further off. It seemed like the big cat had found other prey, but Cas couldn't relax. He stayed crouched against the tree, gun clutched tightly in his hands, until light crested in the east. Only then did he relax and crawl to his sleeping bag to zip his frozen body into it. He was still scared but he was also exhausted and he hoped daylight would keep any apex predators away.

:::::::

Six days later, Cas found a body in the street. He'd found few during his wandering. From what the news had said, the virus, once it had really caught hold in the population, had moved fast. So fast that local services had been overwhelmed and when people had called to report that loved ones had died, the dead had languished for days or longer in their beds. So when everything had finally ground to a halt, when Cas had started walking, he'd expected to come across a lot more bodies than he had. In the beginning, they'd been more common. Almost every town he stopped in there'd been at least one or two in the streets, but even that had been shockingly few. He supposed that most of the bodies lay inside their houses, waiting for help that would never come. He didn't go inside the houses if he could help it.

Part of what had slowed him down in those first months, aside from his die-ruled course, was that he'd buried every body he came across. There was no reason to do so, there was no one to mourn them, no one to hold vigil, but still, he'd felt compelled.

Sometimes it took him two or three days in a single place, finding a pickaxe and shovel in an abandoned garage and setting to dig a hole as deep as he was tall. There was no real reason for him to adhere to the standard six foot deep grave at this point, but he still did. Then he would wrap the bodies in a shroud of a clean sheet and carefully maneuver them both into the grave so he could lay the body at the bottom before hoisting himself out onto the lawn and start shoveling dirt over them.

Each time, when the first few shovelfuls of dirt hit the body with a dull _whumph_ , Castiel wished he had faith to match his name. He'd given up his belief in god decades ago when he was learning the basic parts of an atom. But when he buried a body, he wanted to believe, because otherwise he was just burying dead meat, and he didn't want that to be true.

This body was that of a girl on the verge of womanhood. She lay on her back in the middle of the road, her sightless eyes staring at the sky, two bullet holes in her torso. Her lack of advanced decomposition suggested she'd been murdered recently. The way her clothes were twisted and torn on her body spoke of other violations, too.

Castiel swallowed hard, choking back the bile as he dropped his backpack to the ground and took off his jacket to cover her. He tried not to wonder if the rape had happened before or after she was dead. He didn't want to think about the monsters he was sharing the world with. He didn't want to think about this girl's last moments being filled with terror and pain.

He picked up her cold hand and held it to his cheek, feeling the tears come, letting the sorrow he constantly kept pushed to the back of his awareness overtake him. He had lost everything, but of all that he'd had, he felt the loss of his daughter most keenly. Her smile and laugh were his most treasured memories, but he never let himself think about it because the pain of knowing he would never see or hear either again was unbearable. But sometimes… sometimes he was glad she hadn't lived to see what the world had become. He was glad that she had died in relative peace, before everything had started, rather than meeting an end such as this.

He put the girl's hand down gently and brushed her hair back from her face. It was dull now in death, but he could see that it would have been a rich chestnut when she was alive and he was reminded again so powerfully of his daughter that he had to choke down a sob. He bent down and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"I'm sorry," he murmured and then hastily heaved himself to his feet and stalked down the nearest street to kick in the door of the nearest home. He gathered a clean sheet, a washcloth, and rummaged through the closets - ignoring the dead bodies on the bed - until he found a dress that he thought would fit the girl well enough. He folded it over the other items in his arm and hastily left the house.

Back with her body, Cas laid down everything, carefully placing the dress on the sheet so it wouldn't get dirty, before kneeling beside her again. He wet the washcloth with water from his bottle and began to wipe down her face.

"I wonder what your name was," he asked absently as he wiped away the dirt from her face. "My daughter's name--" His voice broke and he sat back and rubbed a hand over his mouth. He didn't want to cry again, but the tears were already leaking hot and constant from his eyes. He cleared his throat and continued. "My daughter's name was Hannah. She would have been your age, I think, maybe…" His breath hitched and he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. "Maybe a year or two younger."

He continued to wipe the dirt off her face until it was clean. Next he pulled her collar down slightly so he could clean her neck, and then moved onto her arms. He kept up a constant stream of chatter, talking trivialities to this dead girl, sharing things that his daughter had liked and wondering if she would have liked the same things.

When her visible skin was clean, Cas took his jacket off her and, with all the clinical detachment he could muster, removed her dirty, torn clothing. He cleaned up what blood he found, clenching his jaw against rage and sorrow as he wiped it from her thighs, before sitting her up and slipping the clean dress over her head. He maneuvered her arms into the sleeves and then lifted her a little more off the ground so he could smooth the dress over her hips. He pushed it down past her thighs and knees and then… he should have laid her back on the ground and started on her grave, but he couldn't. Her body felt so familiar in his arms, her slight shoulders, and he missed Hannah so much that he clutched her body in a tight hug and rocked her while he sobbed.

"I'm so sorry," he wept into her hair. "I never fixed you."

He held the dead girl and sobbed out his grief until he was empty. Until his brain was so swollen with memories that he couldn't dwell on anything specific anymore. Until he was so oversensitive that his tears dried up and he just sat there with a dead girl in his arms, enjoying it simply because she was the same weight and shape as his lost child. But eventually he released her back down to the ground and started digging her grave.

The soil here was loose and lacking in rocks and weeds, so the digging went fast, but it was still full dark by the time he was done. He'd wrapped the girl in the sheet he'd found and then picked her up to carefully maneuver them down into the grave. He held her again when they were at the bottom and Castiel wondered what it would be like if he just stayed down there with her. He could sit back against the soil and bundle the girl against his chest and hold her until rain or inherent instability collapsed the walls of dirt down onto them. He wondered if he'd be at peace, then, or if his spirit was too guilty to rest, even after death.

In the end, he laid her down and climbed out of the gave and then filled it in behind him. It was nearly dawn by the time he was finished and he was shaking with exhaustion and grief. He stared down at the grave for a moment before flinging the shovel aside and going back to the house he'd raided the day before. He stripped off his muddy clothes before collapsing onto the couch, ignoring the lingering smell of decay. He pulled a blanket over his naked body and fell asleep almost immediately.

:::::::

He woke what must have been just a few hours later, a beam of sunlight streaming through the open curtains directly onto his face. He sat up and squinted at it for a moment, disoriented, the blanket pooling in his lap, before memories of the previous day crashed down on him. He laid back down and put his arm over his eyes. He wanted desperately to go back to sleep, to have a few more hours of oblivion where he didn't have to feel anything, remember anything, mourn anything, but his mind was awake, now, and it insisted on remembering. Insisted on replaying old memories and decisions. Insisted on dissecting everything, examining from every angle, critiquing and second guessing until he finally threw off the blanket and stood.

His nudity took him by surprise. He didn't remember taking off his clothes before he'd face planted on the couch, but there were his wet, muddy clothes in a pile by the coffee table. His backpack stood at the end of the couch and he went over to it to dig out a new pair of underwear, but he needed to see if anyone in this house wore anything close to his size in pants. Those jeans had been his only pair. He'd worn them through plenty of burials, but the thought of putting them back on right now made his stomach clench. No, those jeans would be staying here to rot right along with the girl he'd put in the ground.

The lurch of his stomach was sudden and he rushed to the kitchen, making it to the sink barely in time heave the meagre contents of his stomach into it. His body kept clenching long after his stomach was empty, like it was trying to expel all his thoughts and emotions along with everything else, and Cas could only grip the counter and endure it, try to take deep breaths between the heaves. Eventually, finally, when his stomach settled he turned toward the opposite counter and bent at the waist, resting his head on his arms, and tried to find his equilibrium. All of his muscles were trembling, from overexertion and exhaustion and his stomach was still sour, so he just concentrated on his breathing. His face was wet, too, both from all the puking and the emotions that had been dredged up. His breathing hitched for a while until it evened out and Cas pushed away from the counter abruptly to fling open cabinets. He found a lot of canned and packaged food he'd undoubtedly come back for later, but right now he wanted something else. Finally he opened a cabinet that had a bottle of vodka behind it. Back before everything had gone wrong, Cas had prefered gin, but right now he wasn't going to quible. He took a couple of pulls from the bottle and then let it drop to the counter, breathing hard through his nose as he fought a wave of nausea. When it receded, he took another swallow, and then another. He could already feel his head spinning, so he turned back to the cabinets and rifled through them for any sort of junk food he could find. He finally found a half empty package of Oreos and shoved one whole into his mouth. The cookie was soft and stale, but the sugar would give him the boost he needed right now. He'd make himself a proper breakfast later.

After eating half a dozen more cookies, Cas took the bottle of vodka and went upstairs. It didn't take long to find the master bedroom. There were two corpses on the bed, their bodies dried out after so many months dead. The bedding around and beneath them were stained black from where their organs had putrefied. Cas didn't spare them a glance as he walked over to the walk in closet. He sipped the vodka as he picked through the man's clothing, eventually pulling a pair of jeans off a hangar. They were too large, but Cas just took a belt off a hook and cinched them tight. He took a shirt, too, also too large, but he hardly cared. The vodka was doing its job and he wasn't thinking about too much beyond what he would make for breakfast.

He'd just set up his little backpacking stove and put a pot over the flame when he heard voices. His breath froze in his chest. He hadn't heard another human voice in… he didn't honestly know how long. He hadn't bothered to keep track of what day or month it was, but he did know that it had been July when he'd left Atlanta and since then the weather had grown frigid and back into hot again. Supposing it was June or July, that would have made it… _Oh my god,_ Cas thought and suddenly had to brace himself against the counter. That would make it a year, or near enough. A year since he'd seen another living human being.

Part of him wanted to run out there and see them, talk to them, especially the not entirely sober part, but thankfully enough of his rational brain was still online to tell him that was a bad idea. Quickly, he turned off the fuel for his stove and went to the front of the house to look out the window. There were four men walking down the middle of the street, all of them with some sort of assault rifle slung across their backs. They were talking back and forth between themselves, but Cas couldn't make out what. Suddenly one of the guys threw back his head and laughed, a braying honk, and Cas realized that that's what he'd heard.

They just looked like men, they didn't look like the hillbillies from Deliverance or like degenerates, but Cas was certain that these men, at least one of them, had raped the girl he'd buried yesterday. Had then snuffed out her life and left her to rot on an empty sidewalk. Rage like he'd never felt rose up in him and before he knew it he was across the room, loaded handgun in hand. His backpack was overturned at his feet, the contents strewn haphazardly, and he had no memory of doing any of it. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths before ejecting the magazine onto the scattered things on the floor, dropping the gun after it.

What was he thinking? That those men were responsible for the dead girl he had no doubt. Seeing people so shortly after finding a recently deceased body couldn't be a coincidence, not after so long of not seeing anyone at all. But what was Cas supposed to do? Charge out of this house, gun blazing, and shoot the monsters down? That's what he _wanted_ to do, but he knew it wasn't realistic. Not only did those men have assault rifles, but they probably knew how to use them. Cas had taken a handgun from a Walmart as he left Atlanta, and had taught himself the mechanics of it, but he hadn't bothered with target practice or anything. He didn't actually know how to _use_ it. His chances of hitting them were slim; his chances of hitting them fatally were essentially nonexistent. He scrubbed his hands over his face and then back through his dark hair. He was utterly unequipped for this new world. He'd only made it this far because everyone had died so quickly that there hadn't been time for looting, so the stores were still full of food, and he hadn't met any people to put him in danger.

He turned and went back to the window, scanning the streets, but he saw no sign of the men. He went back to the kitchen to resume breakfast, sipping from the vodka bottle as he did so. Staying here for a few days was probably a good idea, let those men move on. As he waited for the water to boil, he wondered if there was more booze in the house.

:::::::

Four days later, Cas finally did move on. His head felt like stuffed cotton. When he'd found no more liquor in the house he'd crashed in, he took the small chance to raid those around him and had spent the entirety of his time as smashed as he could possibly get. It wasn't like him. He'd never been a heavy drinker and he hadn't started after the world was ending, but that girl, his inability to get any justice for her when the bastards who'd violated her were _right there_ …  It had driven him into a deep despair that he hadn't cared to try to get out of. Drinking away the horror seemed the only sensible option.

But now the numbness, the despondency had started to wear off and he knew that he had to press on. Keep walking. So he'd woken up that morning, eaten breakfast, took what supplies he wanted from the house, and left. He walked whichever way the die told him, head down, attempting to keep his mind blank or filled with trivialities. He recited half remembered poems, hummed favorite songs, and traced the path of the human vascular system. He kept his eyes on the road.

The second day after he'd left the house (the girl), he was walking through a maze of farm and factory buildings, lost in thought about what exactly he would put on a pizza, if he'd go white or classic tomato sauce, when he heard a loud crack and a braying, honking laugh. He started and stood there staring around him, so surprised that he hadn't even registered the sound as a gunshot until there was a second one and a searing pain in his shoulder. He cried out and grabbed his shoulder before his brain finally got a signal through to his body and he ran for one of the buildings, another shot ringing out behind him.

His heart was thudding in his chest and he'd already started shaking with adrenaline. Part of him wanted to find someplace in this building to hide, but he knew that would be a terrible idea. They'd likely seen him run in here and if he stayed, he'd be cornered. He had his gun, but if was the same men he'd seen back at the house, they'd easily be able to wait him out, so he ran through the building to the back, where he prayed there would be a door. There was, already standing slightly ajar, and he barrelled toward it, meaning to run straight through, but skidded to a stop right before he did so. What if one of them was on the other side? There were four of them. Desperately, he looked around, trying to think of what he should do when his eyes landed on a length of pipe. He grabbed it and used it to slowly push the door open. When nothing happened, he quietly put the pipe down and then ran through the door.

There was no gunshot as he burst through the doorway and he quickly turned left, trying to get away from the main drag where he'd been shot. He kept zigzagging between the buildings, trying to confuse anyone who might be following him. He was just thinking he might make it out of this when another shot rang out and he hit the ground hard, his leg screaming with pain. But he scrambled immediately to his feet, adrenaline and fear overriding the pain. He hunched as two more shots rang out, panting as he ran, wondering if he was going to die.

He turned a corner to get out of the line of fire and was limping past a door when a hand reached out and yanked him through. He started to scream but was suddenly in a tight grip with a hand over his mouth.

"I'm not with them," the man whispered harshly. "And unless you wanna die here, you'll let me help you."

Cas didn't respond, too shocked at this development, not knowing if he should trust this stranger. The stranger snorted a laugh in his ear.

"You've got about three seconds to decide, buddy, or I'm leaving you here."

Cas blinked at the doorway, dazed, and then nodded. At worst if he trusted this guy only to be betrayed later, he'd just be delaying what would happen to him here anyhow. At best, maybe he'd found a friend.

"Good choice. Come on, move quick."

The guy walked him over to a ladder that led into a loft. Neither Cas' shoulder nor his leg would allow him to climb the ladder as normal, so he had to keep grabbing the upper rung with his good arm and hop up with his good leg. It was exhausting, especially given how much pain he was in, but he had excellent motivation to make it work. The stranger was right behind him, his shoulder practically bumping against Cas' ass with how close he was, mumbling under his breath.

After what seemed like eons later, Cas finally reached the loft and staggered as far back from the ledge as he could get before collapsing down to the floor, breathing raggedly. He watched the stranger swiftly and quietly pull the ladder into the loft with them before unslinging an assault rifle from his back. Cas' heart clenched at the sight and he started to struggle to his feet, certain that he was one of the men from the street, but the guy just waved him back to the floor and got down on his belly near the edge, gun at the ready. After a second the guy turned to look at him.

"Can you breathe more quietly?"

"Forgive me for being shot and in pain," Cas snapped back, but started breathing through his mouth as quietly as possible. Outside, they heard the men shouting to one another, clearly trying to find Cas. The stranger was still as a statue in his position near the edge of the loft, lost in the shadow of the space. If Cas hadn't known he was there, he might not have noticed him at all, even from this close.

Below them, they heard one of the men enter the building and Cas held his breath. The stranger didn't twitch. Cas could only watch him as they listened to debris crunch under the shoes of the man below them. Eventually they heard the squeal of hinges and then silence.

Cas drew in a huge breath and started to squirm out of his backpack. He needed to check his wounds.

"Stay quiet, they're probably still around," the stranger whispered, suddenly having appeared at his side and Cas only barely bit back a sound of surprise.

"Thank you," he whispered back. "For helping me."

"I know those guys. They're douchebags." He started helping Cas out of his pack. "What'd you do to make them shoot at you?"

"Exist." Cas hissed in a pained breath as his shoulder flexed to get through the pack strap. "I was just walking down the street when they started shooting."

"Probably realized you're unaffiliated and decided to have some fun." He set Cas' pack aside and helped him sit up before sitting back on his heels. "I usually like to take someone to dinner before I say this, but let's get your clothes off."

Cas stared at him uncomprehendingly for a second before bursting into laughter, quickly slapping a hand over his mouth. He kept giggling, feeling more than a little hysterical, as the stranger just watched him, one side of his mouth pulled up slightly in a smile.

"First brush with death, huh?" he asked and Cas managed to nod even though his giggles got more hysterical. The guy huffed and said, "You ride that out. Enjoy it because you're gonna feel like hell when it wears off."

He moved away and left Cas to his hysteria for a while. As it started to wind down, he realised what the guy had meant. As the bright, crazy feeling left him, the pain started not so much creeping in as launching an assault on him. He clenched his teeth against a groan and laid back down on the floor.

"Hey, hey," the guy said softly. "Take this."

Cas turned onto his good arm and pushed himself back to sitting. He couldn't hold back a small whimper. In the distance they heard some shouting.

"Fuck," the guy said as he handed over the ibuprofen and a bottle of water. "I was hoping they'd move on quicker. I don't want to stitch you up with them in shouting distance."

"I need to see how extensive the damage is." Cas swallowed down the pills and began to unbutton his shirt. The stranger helped peel it off his shoulder and then held up a small flashlight so Cas could see in the gloom of the loft.

"Doesn't look too bad," he said before Cas could really get a good look and shifted to look at the exit wound. "Through and through, pretty clean."

He sat back and Cas looked up at him. "Are you a doctor?"

He laughed. "No. Just had a bit of emergency medical training."

"EMT?"

"No, nothing formal. Get your pants down so I can get a look at your leg.

Cas unbuckled his belt and started on the button and zipper. "Since I'm not getting a dinner out of this, can I at least get your name?"

The guy huffed another laugh. "I'm Dean."

"I'm Cas."

"Cas, huh? That short for anything?" He helped Cas wiggle his pants down over his hips, gripping the fabric down by Cas' knees, to preserve Cas' modesty or his own Cas wasn't sure.

"Castiel."

Dean looked up from where he'd been examining the wound on Cas' thigh. "You're shitting me."

"I shit you not. My mom went through a profound new age phase."

"Dude. _Castiel?_ You must have gotten beaten up so much."

Cas laughed. "More than my fair share."

"Well," Dean said, sitting back again and refocusing on Cas' thigh wound. "You lucked out on this this one. It's just a graze."

"Deep one, though," Cas said, peering at the wound.

"Ah," Dean scoffed. "Nothing some Bactine and a bandage won't fix."

"Thank you for being so cavalier about my health." Cas was still peering at the wound, considering his options. "We should pack the shoulder wound and then Dermaglue this laceration."

Dean made a frustrated noise. "Packing that's going to take a ton of bandages. Just let me sew it up. But I do have super glue for your leg."

"You… what?" Cas asked, completely taken aback.

"What, what?" Dean asked. "I'm saying just sewing up your shoulder will save resources and that if you're going to be prissy about it, I've got superglue for your thigh."

Cas just looked at him, sputtering the beginnings of several rebuttals. He finally settled on, " _Prissy?_ "

"Look, Cas, I know it's scary seeing wounds like this on your body, but I've done this a lot and that wound'll heal up fine if we sew it up and keep it clean."

"Jesus," Cas breathed. "I'm not being _prissy_ , I'm being prudent. You've got no idea if something large is bleeding internally. Even if there's not, do you know how much blood will collect under the skin if we don't pack it?" Dean opened his mouth to respond, but Cas cut him off. "I'm sure you do, but you clearly don't appreciate the myriad of complications that could arise from that."

"Myriad, huh?" Dean asked wryly and Cas simply lifted an eyebrow in response.

"I've got plenty of supplies in my pack, so don't worry about your resources. I'd appreciate your help, though. Especially for the back of my shoulder." Cas started trying to undo the buckles and pulls of his backpack, but it was awkward to do one handed, so Dean just took it from him. "First aid kit should be on the left side, on top."

Dean dug around in Cas’ pack and then whistled softly as he opened up the kit. "You know how to use all this stuff?"

"I should hope so," Cas said absently as he bent forward and rifled through the kit for what he wanted. He missed Dean's sharp look.

"You a doctor?"

Cas nodded and got out a clean t-shirt to lay his supplies on. "I never practiced, though. I went into research." When he had everything he needed laid out, he shook out two oxycodone and dry swallowed them before looking up at Dean. "Have you ever packed a wound?"

"Yeah, but I think the more important question is, have you ever had a wound packed?"

"No, but I know it's a painful procedure."

"Knowing and and experiencing are two different things. Those guys are still out there. They hear you screaming and they're going to come back and then the bullets'll fly. Can you keep quiet?"

Cas closed his eyes and rubbed the sweat off his forehead. As the adrenaline wore off the pain grew. Packing the wound involved nothing less than Dean shoving rolls of gauze into the ragged bullet holes with his fingers to put pressure on any leaking blood vessels. He knew it was paramount that he remain silent, but he hurt so much right now that his whole body felt like a raw, exposed nerve ending and he truly wasn't sure he could refrain from screaming. But… he opened his eyes and gave Dean a level look.

"I know what those men are capable of. I'll keep quiet."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked. "You tangled with them before?"

Cas' jaw clenched and he looked away. He didn't want to think about this, much less talk about it. He swallowed hard. "About a week ago I came across a young girl. She'd been…" He stopped and pressed his fingers against his eyes to stop the tears. When he'd collected himself, he dropped his hands but still didn't look at Dean. "I buried her and stayed the next day in one of the houses. I saw these men walking through the streets. I hadn't seen another person for at least seven months, so finding the girl and then seeing them so soon after… It had to have been them."

"They'd killed her?" Dean asked. When Cas didn't answer, the silence grew angry. "They'd raped her," Dean said, voice flat. Cas could only nod and press his fingers against his eyes again. " _Fuck_ ," Dean swore and got to his feet. He paced the length of the loft a few times before spinning to look at Cas. "Will you be alright here yourself for a little while?"

"What?" Cas asked, caught off guard.

"If I leave for an hour or so are you gonna be alright?" Dean's body language was all bristling aggression and Cas suddenly realized what the other man intended on doing.

"Dean, don't…" he started but Dean turned away from him to pick up his gun and slinging it over his back.

"I'm gonna take that as a yes." Dean maneuvered the ladder to the edge of the loft and eased it down to the ground. "If you can, pull this ladder up. If you can't… are you armed?"

"I have a handgun, yes, but Dean…"

Dean didn't wait for him to finish. "Good. You shouldn't have to use it, but just in case. Get the ladder up if you can, though. That'd be best. I'll be gone for an hour tops. Hopefully less."

"Dean, don't do this," Cas plead and Dean gave him a hard look.

"You don't think they deserve it?"

"I'm not thinking about them, I'm thinking about you. I haven't known you long, but you seem like a good man. What you're going to do…"

"You've known me for all of thirty minutes, Cas," Dean interrupted. "You've got no idea what type of man I am. I know exactly what I'm going to do and I know exactly how it'll feel, but some people don't deserve to live." He gestured to the supplies. "Take care of your thigh if you can and when I get back we'll take care of your shoulder."

With that, he swung over the edge of the loft and slid down the ladder. Cas heard his boots crunching over the debris on the ground and then he was gone. Cas blinked at the empty space where Dean had just been standing. At where Dean had admitted that he was going to murder those men and intimating that they wouldn't be the first. The thought chilled Cas to the bone. Dean hadn't seemed mentally unstable, but then weren't psychopaths supposed to be outwardly charming?

But, Cas' mind countered, Dean said he knew these men and he'd been willing to let them go on their way until Cas had told him what they'd done. Or what Cas _believed_ them to have done. He had no proof. It _could_ have been total unhappy happenstance that he'd seen these men the day after he'd buried the girl. His assumptions could have just sent Dean out there to kill four innocent men. His heart was beating hard again, his mind spinning. He felt lightheaded and sick and he didn't think it was from the gunshot wounds.

"Oh my god," he whispered to himself. "Oh my…" he tried to lever himself up to his feet only to remember that his jeans were still pushed down to his knees. He tried to pull them up one handed and finally stopped panting and gritting his teeth against the cry that wanted to escape. His thigh and shoulder were both screaming in pain and both were bleeding sluggishly again.

He slumped back against the wall and considered his options. He could do what Dean suggested and see to his leg and then wait for Dean to come back so they could attend to his shoulder. And, while Cas had put his trust in Dean earlier, that didn't seem the wisest course of action anymore. He could attempt again to get himself dressed and get down from the loft… And then what would he do? Find Dean? Try to convince him to spare the lives of the men he was hunting down? Simply run away? That seemed like a bad option. Not only was he in no condition to make it very far, it was likely that Dean would be able to track him down easily and he honestly didn't know if that was a good thing or bad. He didn't know what box to put Dean in anymore. Bad guy or good?

Thoughts in utter chaos, he sat there trying to figure out what to do. He was startled out of his reverie by a gunshot followed quickly by two more. There was a long stretch of silence followed by an extended exchange of gunfire and a new thought suddenly occurred to Cas. What if Dean got killed? Would they realize he'd helped Cas and then come looking for him? There were a few more shots and then silence.

 _Shit_ , Cas thought and then looked down at his leg. Regardless of what happened, he wanted to meet it with his pants _on_ , thank you very much. First he grabbed his gun out of his pack so he had it if he needed it and then rubbed his hands down with isopropyl alcohol and then put on a pair of gloves. It was probably a wasted measure, but some habits were too deeply ingrained. After that he spent several minutes filling a large syringe with water and flushing out the wound, gritting his teeth against the pain as he forced the water out hard so it would get deep enough into the wound to clean it out fully. He was sweating and shaking when he was done with that, but it had been necessary. Finally, he used Dermaglue to close the wound before putting gauze pads over it and then wrapping his leg.

He sat back for a moment to catch his breath and let the pain begin to recede. Eventually, though, the thought that Dean could be back at any time - or worse, one of the strangers - he started to struggle with his pants again. He never would have said it would be so awkward to pull one's pants up one handed, and maybe it wouldn't have been if he hadn't been shot, but trying to work them over his hips seemed the most monumental task he'd ever faced, including both his dissertation defence and medical licensing exam. When he finally got them up and zipped and buttoned, he was lying on the floor panting.

"Wow," Dean said, startling Cas so much he could stop the yelp. "I don't think I've ever been sadder to see a guy put his pants on."

Cas turned his head to glare at him. He wasn't sure if he was being made fun of or if Dean was flirting. Either way, Cas felt it was inappropriate. "How long have you been there?"

Dean shrugged. He was still on the ladder, just his torso visible, forearms resting on the end caps, hands dangling, relaxed. Like he hadn't just murdered four men. "Not long. A minute or so."

He finished climbing the ladder and Cas forced himself to sit up and rested his hand obviously on his gun. Dean saw the movement and smirked, though Cas thought he saw regret woven through it.

"I spooked you, huh? Not sure if the end of the world made me a little," he whistled, high to low, imitating a cuckoo clock, "nutty?" He slung his rifle off where it had been hanging over his back and dropped it by his pack. Then, with very slow, deliberate motions, keeping eye contact with Cas the whole time, he reached behind himself and pulled a handgun from his waistband and set that down by his pack too. He then crouched down and from one ankle unstrapped a tiny semi automatic handgun and from the other a rather terrifying looking knife. Both of those went into the pile on his pack before raising both his eyebrows and standing, stepping away from the weapons.

"I've still got a knife in my pocket, but that doesn't ever leave my person. Other than that, I'm completely unarmed. If fact, the last person that saw me with this few weapons, I was getting laid, alright? I'm not going to hurt you."

Cas' fingers tightened around the gun but he didn't lift it from the floor. "I need you to understand where I'm coming from, Dean. You just came back from killing four men who _might_ have committed a crime. You did it like it was nothing. You have to understand why that gives me pause to trust you."

"Sure," Dean said easily, sitting down far enough from Cas that he didn't feel too caged in. "Would it make you feel better to know it _was_ them?"

Cas blinked at him. "How do you know that?"

"You really want to know?" Cas stared at him for a moment before looking down and Dean huffed a laugh. "Let's just say he volunteered the information when I asked." When Cas glanced back up at him, Dean smiled winsomely. "What can I say? I'm very persuasive. But it was them. Not all of them, but… the rest of them didn't do anything to stop their buddies, so in my book they're just as guilty. And hey, now we can pack that wound without worrying about anyone hearing you."

Cas tried to parse what Dean had told him. The men, apparently, were responsible for violating and killing the girl, and Dean had taken care of them. Seemingly without remorse. Cas had never been faced with such a moral quandary. Dean had killed without personal provocation, but then, the men he'd killed were guilty of a heinous crime.

"They're all dead?"

Dean made a face. "One got away, but he's not sticking around here for anything. Already hightailed it home. So, we good?"

"Holy shit, give me a fucking second,” Cas snapped. “This is my first encounter with vigilante justice.”

Cas rubbed his temples with thumb and forefinger, trying to ease the headache he could feel building, despite all the analgesics he'd taken. He couldn’t deny that what Dean had done felt right, felt _good_ , even, but they were still three lives snuffed out in an instant by one man who had appointed himself judge, jury, and executioner. Cas had taken an oath to help people. Was killing men acceptable as part of that oath? But what about the other girls they met, his mind reasoned. Was letting them live knowing that they had violated and killed a girl and would likely kill others doing no harm? A sob forced its way from Cas' chest. He'd taken his oath in all sincerity, but he'd never fully appreciated all the shades of grey that existed within its seemingly black and white framework.

In his exhaustion, Cas slumped back against the wall. It was too much; everything was too much. The end had come so fast that he hadn't had time to process. His daughter had died three months before everything had really gone to hell and his husband had been one of the first to die of the virus that came to be known as Chameleon. The loss of both of them was too much too soon and he'd shut down. He wanted to mourn his daughter and his husband. He wanted to mourn all the people he'd buried. He wanted to mourn the men Dean had killed. But most of all, he wanted to mourn the world he had lost, where everything had made sense. He wanted to go back to bickering about who cleaned the toilets and what kind of milk they should buy. He wanted to mourn mowing the lawn and having friends over to grill. He wanted to mourn falling asleep with the warmth of another body against his and he wanted to mourn the weight of his daughter in his arms when she leapt into them when he came home. He wanted to mourn but had never had the chance.

"Hey, c'mon…"

The soft words brought Cas back to himself and he realized he'd been crying into the crook of his elbow in front of a man whose sanity he wasn't sure of. Not smart. Cas wrenched himself out of the past and into the present.

"I don't know what to think, Dean. I don't…" He tried to articulate what was wrong but only kept revolving around the main two points he was stuck on. The men were terrible and deserved to die, Dean had been willing to kill them with no proof and felt zero remorse about it. He could torture himself with this question forever, but he couldn't let himself. He had to decide a path and move on, like he had since the world had ended. Cas sniffed to clear his nose and rubbed his hand across his eyes. "Yeah," he said, deciding to trust Dean. "Yeah, we're good."

Dean sat there for a long moment after Cas said they were okay. He lifted his hands slowly and pointed at the supplies. "Want to pack your shoulder, now?"

"Yeah," Cas said, pretending that he wasn't wet at the eyes and leaking snot. "Wear gloves," he added when Dean reached for the gauze with bare hands.

Dean nodded shortly before pulling on a pair of gloves and picking up a stack of gauze pads. "Ready?"

Cas nodded, but he wasn't, really. There was no way anyone could prepare for such pain. Dean dug the gauze deep into the entrance wound with his finger before leaning Cas forward and doing the same to the exit wound. Though Cas had promised that he would be quiet during the packing of his wounds, he was not. He screamed and clung to Dean as Dean drove the pack in as deep and tight as he could get it. When he was done Cas was sweating and shaking all over. Dean laid him back onto the floor, arranging Cas' pack so it would support him comfortably. He got up and dug around his own pack for a moment before coming back to crouch down next to Cas.

"Eat this and rest, now, alright?" He handed over an apple and a Snickers bar. Cas immediately brought the apple to his mouth in a shaky hand. The sugar would help stave off shock. "We'll get going in the morning if you're up to it."

"We?"

Dean shrugged and went back to sit by his own pack. "I'm not gonna force you or anything, but I've got someplace you'd be safe. Where you could be useful to people."

"People?" Cas asked, too surprised by the thought of more people to keep the longing out of his voice.

"Yeah. Not too many. But we don't have anyone with any real medical experience and we could use one."

Cas just stared at him for a moment. There were people, a _community_ , and Dean wanted to take him there. The thought made Cas' chest ache. "Yeah," he said finally, voice rough with emotion. "Yeah, okay." He swallowed and picked at the wrapper of the Snickers, trying to sort out his feelings. He'd thought he'd be alone, wandering aimlessly, forever. He had resigned himself to that existence, to slowly losing his mind due to isolation. And now to be suddenly offered an alternative, an alternative where he was actually needed and could be _useful_ was overwhelming. He was so caught up in the possibilities, in the excitement of being with other people, that he never even considered the fact that Dean could be lying or that the place they were going was dangerous.

He ate the Snickers absently, wondering what it would be like to be a practicing doctor, what it would be like to have people depend on him again until exhaustion finally started to drag at him. He picked through his first aid kit until he found a prescription bottle of amoxicillin and swallowed one down with what was left of his water. He considered sitting up and getting a fresh shirt out of his pack, but it was still and hot in the loft and he knew he'd wake before nightfall so decided to skip it. The pain had ebbed to a dull pounding ache throughout his entire body and he didn't want to reawaken it by moving. So he just scooted down a little bit and laid his head back. He fell asleep between one breath and the next.

:::::::

Pain drove him from sleep the next morning and he was unable to stop the groan.

"Morning, sunshine," Dean said, startling him.

He blinked his eyes open and looked around, taking in his companion and the loft, remembering the previous day and all its emotional whiplash. _People_. Dean was taking him to people. And then his breath hitched as he remembered that Dean had also murdered three people as easily as breathing. _Vile people_ , his mind supplied and Cas shut down that train of thought before it could get going. He'd made his decision about trusting Dean, even if he hadn't made peace with it, yet.

"Morning," he croaked and attempted to sit up. His body screamed with pain and he relaxed back against his pack, breathing hard.

"Here," Dean said, kneeling down next to him, offering up two oxy and a bottle of water. Cas moved to lift his hand to accept them and only then realized that he was covered by a canvas jacket. He looked down at it, confused. "It got chilly last night," Dean said. "I didn't think it was a good idea for you to get cold."

He sounded a touch defensive and Cas looked up at him, wishing his brain would come online faster. "No, it's… You're right, thank you." He slipped his arm out from under the jacket's warmth to accept the pills. "If you could get me out four Tylenol and an amoxicillin, too, I'd appreciate it."

As Dean unzipped Cas' first aid kit and started poking around, Cas rubbed the sleep from his eyes and tried to process the events from the day before. He couldn't believe how incredibly disoriented he felt. Just waking up to the sound of someone else's voice felt utterly foreign, but then remembering the fear he'd felt when he'd been shot, the horror and vindication when he'd realized Dean was going to kill the men that had raped that girl, the soaring elation that Dean could take him to a settlement of survivors, all within the space of a couple of hours. And all overlaid with the most vicious pain he'd ever felt.

"Hey," Dean said, waving his hand in front of Cas' face. "You alright? You zoned out."

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, sorry. I'm… a lot has happened in a very short amount of time. I'm… processing."

Dean laughed and held out the Tylenol and antibiotic. "Process while you take that and I'll finish making breakfast."

"Breakfast?" Cas echoed before knocking back all his medication. Dean quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Yeah, y'know, that first, most important meal of the day?" He got up and went to where he had a skillet set up on a large camp stove. There was already food sizzling away in it.

Cas' eyebrows knit together, confused. It looked like fresh meat in the pan. "What is that?"

"I know it's the end of the world and all, Cas, but you can't have forgotten what real food looks like already," Dean said.

"Where did you get it?" As Cas watched, Dean flipped the small pieces of meat and then tossed in several handfuls of fresh greens. "Where did you get fresh vegetables?"

Dean laughed as he added water and a few other things to the pan. "Wow, you're a city boy through and through, huh?" At Cas' persistent perplexed look, Dean whistled and shook his head. "The meat's from a couple of squirrels I caught this morning. The greens are wild. Fireweed, dandelion, and, lucky us, I found some wild asparagus."

"You… how do you know they're safe to eat? What if the squirrels were diseased?"

Dean chuckled again. "Let's just say I'm good at this whole survival thing. Everything's safe to eat, I promise." He stood and brushed off the seat of his jeans before going over to Cas again. "How're you feeling? Painkillers kicking in?"

Cas just gaped at him for a second. What did 'good at the whole survival thing' mean? When had Dean gone out and killed a couple of squirrels? _How_ had he done it? Cas supposed that there were plenty of people in the world who knew how to hunt, but it was so far outside of his experience of life, and his his brain was so overfull, that he couldn't fully parse it. "How do you know all that?"

"Well," Dean said, helping Cas to sitting, "my parents were the paranoid sort. Didn't trust the government, thought most people were sheep. You'd probably heard of the type."

"Libertarians," Cas said and Dean chuckled.

"Yeah, sorta." Dean put his jacket that had been keeping Cas warm aside and tugged Cas' bag toward him. He opened it and started digging through for some clean, unbloodied clothing for Cas to wear. "They definitely had that kind of bent but they went even further. We lived off-grid with a few other families on a big hundred and fifty acre… I’m gonna go ahead and call it a compound though my dad would take the head off anyone who called it that, kids all got homeschooled, that sort of thing. Jesus, do you not have another pair of jeans?"

He looked up at Cas, but Cas was leaning forward, his good hand braced against the floor, eyes closed and face scrunched up like he was somewhere halfway between crying and laughing. "Oh Jesus," he gasped, the sound sort of watery. "I guess it makes sense that the first person I really find in this new world grew up on some sort of survivalist compound." He barked a harsh sound and looked up at Dean. "Let me guess, you were never vaccinated against any of the common childhood diseases."

Dean made an explosive _pfft_ sound. "Of course not."

 _Fuck_ , " Cas gasped, on the verge of hysteria again. "You had stupid fucking parents who didn't use perfectly safe vaccines to protect you, yet you survived the virus that ended the whole fucking human race. The irony is going to fucking choke me to death. Christ."

"Hey, buddy," Dean snapped, sitting back on his heels and crossing his arms over his chest. "You might not want to insult the parents of the guy who saved your bacon. The guy you're _still_ relying on. I thought doctors were smart."

Cas sighed and shook his head, suddenly exhausted again. "It doesn't matter. I'm sorry I insulted your parents." He rubbed his eyes again. "And no, I don't have another pair of jeans, but there should be a clean shirt.

Dean huffed and started digging again, finally finding a clean t-shirt. He tossed it at Cas and left him to put it on himself and headed back to where the meat and greens were cooking. He crouched down and stirred everything with a spoon. He didn't speak as he plated two portions and then slid one toward Cas.

Cas waited until Dean started shoveling food into his mouth before he started eating his own plate. The first bite was a revelation. Cas hadn't realized that he was starving for fresh greens, but at the first bite he was instantly ravenous. The squirrel was gamey and a little tough, but the greens were what he was after. They were sour and a bit bitter, but Cas' body craved them. He'd bolted nearly half his plate before he gushed, "Dean, this is amazing."

Dean pursed his lips. "Not really, but thanks."

"I haven't had a fresh vegetable since everything happened. Trust me, it's incredible."

"Wow," Dean laughed, seemingly finally forgiving Cas for insulting his parents. "Kind of surprised a city boy like you lasted this long on your own. What have you been eating?"

"Canned food. A _lot_ of Dinty Moore." Cas scooped up the last bite of his breakfast and shoved it in his mouth.

"Cold Dinty Moore?" Dean sounded absolutely horrified. "I'm surprised the shits that had to've given you didn't kill you."

A laugh was startled out of Cas at that. In the beginning, he had indeed wished for death on occasion, but his body had eventually adjusted. "It wasn't great, but at least I was able to heat it up."

"Don't tell me you know how to make a fire."

"I figured out how to build a fire eventually, but no, not in the beginning." Cas shook his head. "Raided an REI in Atlanta. Spent two days there eating freeze dried meals and giving myself a crash course in how to use a backpacking stove and water filter, and basic survival. They had a very informative book section."

He'd been terrified and consumed with grief yet determined to survive, to carry the weight of his pain for as long as he could survive. In the end, learning the skills that would keep him alive had been easy. What had been hard had been making himself get up every morning, holding Hannah's die in his hand, remembering everything he'd lost, and keep moving.

"You started in Atlanta?" Dean asked, surprise evident in his voice.

"Uh," Cas said, looking away abruptly. He knew his wandering was weird, knew how he picked his course was even weirder. He didn’t want Dean to change his mind about taking him to his community. “Yeah. There wasn’t any reason for me to stay, so I just sort of… wandered.”

When Cas dared a look back at Dean, the other man was boggling at him.

“You wandered,” Dean repeated flatly and Cas nodded in embarrassed acknowledgment. “Cas, man… You’re in Iowa right now. That’s got to be, what? A thousand miles?”

Cas put his plate on the floor of the loft and idly pushed it away from him. He was in _Iowa_. A thousand miles was probably about right if you went the most direct route. But Cas had taken a completely random route. A thousand miles should have taken him -- he did some quick math -- three and a half months on a steady course with an easy pace, but he’d been walking for, at his best guess, a year. He really didn’t want to explain Hannah’s die to Dean.

So he shrugged. “I guess, yeah. I wasn’t exactly following a map.”

Dean looked at him for a long time after that, his gaze appraising. Finally he nodded. “We’ve got some like you, some people who felt completely unmoored after the dust finally settled. But I don’t think we’ve got anyone who walked a thousand freaking miles.” He paused and pinched his bottom lip between his fingers thoughtfully. “Victor came from Milwaukee. That’s a pretty good distance, too, but… y’know….” Dean’s appraising gaze grew sharp. “Victor made it to Storm Lake in something like two months, so now I’m kind of thinking. I’m having _thinky thoughts_ as my buddy Charlie likes to say. How the hell did it take you over a year to get this far, Cas?”

Cas looked down and used his good arm to scrub his hand back through his dark brown hair. “I told you,” he started. “I wasn’t following a map. It was more like… following my nose. I took whichever route caught my fancy. I’m sure I double backed a lot. And I…” His fist curled without his conscious consent into his hair and he closed his eyes.

“What’d you do?” Dean’s voice was quiet but urgent and Cas got the idea that this was a test.

“I buried every body I came across,” Cas confessed before drawing a breath. “There were a decent amount when I started. So many people were out, trying to find help, not realizing that once you were showing symptoms, you’d likely be dead in twenty-four hours. And there weren’t enough first responders to keep up with all the dead.” All of this poured out of Cas, without his consent, but he couldn’t stop it. “So many people who just wanted to get better dropped dead while they were looking for help. And they left behind seemingly healthy family who didn’t know what to do and do they went out to find help, inadvertently spreading the virus. This fucker was so sneaky.”

Dean was sitting back on his ass, one knee drawn up. “Why bury them?” He seemed completely relaxed when Cas glanced at him, but Cas didn’t buy it. He was more certain than ever that this was a test of some sort. But he had no idea what the right answers might be, so he just answered honestly.

“I don’t know,” Cas shrugged. “It seemed like the right thing to do, I guess. I don’t believe in god, but leaving these people to rot in the sun and torn apart by animals seemed wrong. They didn’t have to die. They _shouldn’t_ have…” Cas rubbed his hand over his mouth. “So I buried the bodies I found. After a while there started to be fewer, as people caught on that there was no help to be had, stayed home until they eventually developed symptoms and died in bed. Between that and not having any destination in mind….” He shrugged. “It took me a y-year. Oh my god,” he breathed and buried his hands in his face. “It’s really been a year.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, shifting to gather his and Cas’ plates. He did a quick scrub down with water and hand sanitizer and then shoved them in the corner along with the camp stove. “The world’s fucking upside down, but we’ve got a community of people who need a doctor. You ready for that? I know you said you never practiced, but you’ve still got all the basic knowledge, right?”

Cas blinked up at Dean. After a year alone he was being asked to serve a community of people. Cas had never wanted to practice medicine before, but now that Dean was dangling this carrot, it was all he wanted in the world.

“Yes. Absolutely yes,” Cas answered immediately. “I have the knowledge. I’m going to have to brush up on certain aspects, and depending on your stockpiles we might need to do some pharmacy raids, but yes, Dean. I’m ready to… I’m…” Cas wasn’t expecting to break down, but he did. Tears spilled over his eyes and he wiped them away. “I want to help. I want… I want…” His breath hiccuped and he coughed. “I want to help. I want to heal people.”

“That’s good to hear, Cas,” Dean said and clapped him on his bare shoulder. “Finish getting dressed and we’ll head out. There’s a neighborhood about a half hour away where we can get you some new pants.”

“Great.” Cas was eager to get going, afraid the man who got away would come back with friends. Maneuvering into his shirt wasn’t too painful, the oxy was doing its job, but he wasn’t looking forward to putting on his backpack. Nothing was going to make that comfortable.

He turned toward his pack and started packing up his first aid kit and stowing everything away. By the time he was done, Dean was standing there waiting for him, wearing a small pack, holding his gun.

“Need help getting that pack on?”

Cas nodded and stood up. Dean hoisted the pack up and helped Cas slip his injured arm through the first strap and then the second one. When Dean carefully settled the weight onto Cas’ shoulders, Cas hissed in a breath.

“You okay?”

____

Cas took a deep breath and nodded. “It’s not great but I can make it.” When Cas turned around, Dean was staring at the backpack, his brow furrowed. “It’s fine, Dean. Let’s go.”

____

Dean’s eyes met his for a moment and Cas could seem him evaluating everything. Whatever Dean’s upbringing on a survivalist compound, he was clearly smart and shrewd, and not for the first time, Cas thought he should probably be careful around the other man.

____

Finally Dean nodded. “Alright, you’re a big boy. Let’s go.”

____

Getting down the ladder was extraordinarily painful, but not as painful as going up the day before had been. When they reached the bottom, Dean grabbed the bottom of the ladder and heaved it up so it was in the loft, only a corner sticking out over the ledge.

____

“How do you get it down when you need it again?” Cas asked. When Dean lifted an eyebrow in his direction, Cas pointed at the loft. “You left that big camp stove up there, and the plates. Seems like you’ll probably be coming back.”

____

Dean smiled. “Yeah, I use this as kind of a way station when I go out on runs. And I got a rope stashed in another building with a grappling hook. I just catch one of the rungs and pull it down.”

____

Cas was impressed with the paranoia of keeping the rope in an entirely different building but didn’t say anything. Dean led the way out of the building and out to the street, keeping a pace that was fast but comfortable. They walked in silence for most of the morning. Cas noticed that Dean remained vigilant as they walked and he wondered if he was worried about the man who’d escaped the previous day or if he was always like this.

____

When they reached a neighborhood, they broke into the first house the came to and rifled through the closets for a pair of jeans for Cas, but everything was far too large, so they moved to the next house. In the end, they had to break into four houses to find a pair that fit well. When Cas started unbuttoning his jeans to change, he realized that Dean was standing there, watching him.

____

“A little privacy, please?”

____

“What does it matter, I’ve already seen it all already.”

____

Cas narrowed his eyes. “You were supposed to be administering medical care, not ogling me.”

____

“Can’t a guy do both?” he asked with a grin, his eyes twinkling, and Cas’ gaze narrowed further.

____

“Is that a flirtation?”

____

Dean laughed and turned away. “Change your pants, man. And grab another pair while you’re at it. I’m gonna go raid the kitchen.”

____

Cas watched Dean go, wondering at his behavior. It was the second time he’d thought Dean was flirting with him. It would be rather bold of Dean to flirt with a man he barely knew, bordering on reckless. That made Cas chuckle as he stripped out of his torn and bloodied jeans. He hadn’t even know Dean for twenty-four hours but ‘bold’ and ‘reckless’ both seemed to suit him. And it hadn’t escaped Cas’ notice that Dean was an extremely good looking man, but also potentially somewhat unhinged. Besides, Cas thought as he pulled on his new pants, he was in no place, mentally or emotionally, to consider doing anything with anyone. He didn’t even think he could pull off meaningless sex right now.

____

_Might be willing to give it a try just to see him come_ , Cas thought idly as he rifled through the clothes in the closet and then shook his head. Here he was, digging through the closet of someone who was almost undoubtedly dead, someone whose death was entirely avoidable, and Cas was thinking of blowing the man a floor away. That seemed twisted and Cas shoved all thoughts of Dean and sex aside disgustedly. _Don’t forget the fact that your husband’s just a year dead_ , Cas thought viciously and had to grip the hangers as a fresh wave of grief swept through him.

____

He had loved his husband. They’d met when Cas was working on his MD at Johns Hopkins and Inias was a Ph.D. candidate in History. Cas had resisted a relationship, too invested in and busy with his dual MD/Ph.D. program, but Inias had been persistent. That and his unfailing ability to make Cas laugh even when he was at the end of his rope had finally crumbled Cas’ resistance. They’d gotten married at the courthouse one afternoon right before Cas left for his residency. A few years later, they’d adopted Hannah and Cas had never felt such enormous, all consuming love as he had the first time he’d held his daughter in his arms. It hadn’t mattered that she wasn’t genetically related to either of them, she was a perfect little human and it was his responsibility to raise her right and he’d loved her instantly.

____

He was devoted to his family, but after he’d received his Ph.D. in immunology, his research had consumed much of his time. After Hannah had been diagnosed at four with a rare and fatal disease, he’d shifted his focus, determined to find a cure. In his fervor to save his daughter, he’d missed so much of her precious life.

____

Far too much, he’d realized after he’d lost everything. But he hadn’t realized it at the time and so he’d spent hours in the lab, and hours more in his office analysing data. By the time he’d realized his mistake, their daughter was dead and Inias had completely emotionally withdrawn. Cas had still been consumed by grief over the loss of his daughter when his husband had succumbed to Chameleon only three months later. They’d never had a chance to reconcile their grievances and when Cas allowed himself to think about it, it still made him feel guilty. He’d been at Inias’ bedside when he’d died, holding his hand and whispering his affection, but it wasn’t enough. And when he’d taken his last breath, Cas had been left completely alone.

____

Cas shook his head to clear his mind of old memories and stripped a second pair of jeans from their hanger. After a moment’s consideration he took a couple of shirts, too. Might as well. He folded everything up and left the bedroom, heading down to the kitchen to find Dean.

____

He found him in the kitchen, sitting on the island with a warm beer and an open box of Cheez-its by one thigh, flipping through a magazine. He looked up as Cas entered the kitchen and smiled wryly.

____

“Figured I’d stay here so your modesty would stay intact.”

____

Cas rolled his eyes and then pointed at the beer and Cheez-its. “How are they?”

____

“Well…” Dean picked up the beer bottle and turned it so Cas could see the label. “Warm Bud Light. Draw what conclusions about that you will. The Cheez-its, however, were unopened.”

____

“Oh,” Cas said and lunged for the box. He reached in and pulled out a handful which he promptly shoved into his face with a moan.

____

“Wow,” Dean chuckled. “You really like Cheez-its, huh?”

____

“I practically lived off these things during med school. I swear they’re made of orange crack.”

____

Dean considered this while thoughtfully chewing his own handful. “So,” he started, wiping cheese dust on his jeans. “I guess they don’t teach basic nutrition or anything in med school because these things are basically made of fat and sodium.”

____

“And orange crack,” Cas said again, laughing. “God, you sound just like…” Cas pulled up short, surprised at his own lapse. He blinked down at the crackers in his hand. The past had been dogging him too much this last week.

____

“Like someone who’s really smart?” Dean tried, clearly sensing the change in Cas’ demeanor and Cas dumped the crackers back into the box.

____

“Like Inias.” Cas tried to firm his voice, but it still cracked. Dean remained silent and Cas stared determinedly at the Cheez-it box. The silence stretched out painfully. “He was my husband,” Cas said finally, still staring at the box, and edge of defiance in his voice, daring Dean to give him shit about being married to a man. But Dean’s silence held. “We were dating while I was in med school and he was horrified at the amount of Cheez-its and Red Bulls I consumed. He wondered aloud all the time why they didn’t teach us basic nutrition.”

____

Dean subtly scooted the bottle of beer toward Cas, and when Cas took it, Dean said, “My brother used to call Bud Light racoon piss.”

____

Cas barely turned his head in time to avoid spraying Dean with a mouthful said racoon piss and Dean smiled sadly. “He used to come to my place and bring this fancy ass craft brewed shit and I was always so pissed at him because it was fucking _good_. I thought for sure he’d survive this thing,” he said after a brief pause. “We share blood, right? I never got so much as a sniffle so he should have been good, too, right?”

____

“That’s not…” Cas started and then shut his mouth. Dean almost certainly didn’t want a lecture in genetics right now. “Which was your favorite?”

____

Dean’s face crumpled in confusion. “Favorite what?”

____

“Beer. I’ve drunk a fair amount of fancy ass craft brewed shit in my time. Which was your favorite?”

____

That led to a lengthy discussion of the state of beer in the US before the shit hit the fan while they worked their way through the substantial amount of crappy beer stashed away in the house and the rest of the Cheez-its.

____

“I don’t think I’m entirely sober,” Cas said many hours later. They had moved to the living room at some point, after Dean had found a bottle of bourbon in the cabinet. The room was filled with warm, orange light from the setting sun. Cas was sprawled comfortably on the couch and Dean was across from him in a recliner, the nearly empty bottle of bourbon dangling from his fingers. He hummed his agreement sleepily.

____

“Y’know, I didn’t mean for us to stay here all day. It’ll take us a few days to get to Storm Lake and I didn’t want to dilly dally.”

____

Cas laughed and echoed, “Dilly dally.”

____

“This is your fault,” Dean accused and Cas turned his head to stare at him.

____

“How’s that?”

____

“You’re the one that started talking about beer.”

____

“If I’m not mistaken,” Cas said, “it was you who went rifling through the cabinets for something stiffer.”

____

Dean opened his mouth to argue but then sagged lazily back into his chair, one side of his mouth pulled up in a smile. “Yeah, okay, fine. You’ve got me there.” Dean’s eyes traveled up and down the length of Cas’ body. “How’re you feeling? How’s the shoulder? The thigh?”

____

“They both hurt like motherfuckers,” Cas said, turning his gaze toward the ceiling. “Thanks for asking and drawing my attention to them.”

____

“Dude,” Dean said and stood up, wavering a bit before he found center. “We need to take that packing out and see how it’s doing.”

____

“It’s fine,” Cas insisted, but Dean was already around the coffee table and then suddenly straddling Cas’ hips.

____

“Take your shirt off,” Dean said, his hands already running up underneath Cas’ top.

____

“Dean,” Cas started, but Dean kept moving up, his hands warm and big on Cas’ skin, until Cas just surrendered and let him take the shirt off. Dean reached for the bandages circling Cas’ shoulder, but Cas used his good hand to grab his wrist. “You need to wash your hands and wear gloves.”

____

Dean rolled his eyes hugely but slid off Cas to head for the backpacks. Cas sent up a silent prayer to every god ever, because having Dean sit on him like that had been too good.

____

“Will this do doctor Novak?” Dean asked with false obeisance just as Cas was getting himself back together. He looked over at Dean and saw him holding a bottle of hand sanitizer and a packet of sterile gloves and nodded. He wasn’t sure he was able to erase the desperate want from his features, though, and looked away quickly.

____

Too soon Dean was back, sliding back into place over Cas’ hips, and dropping the gloves onto his chest. He was still rubbing hand sanitizer into his skin and the smell of alcohol grounded Cas a little. Dean put on the gloves shortly after and unwrapped the gauze from his wound and that narrowed Cas’ focus to a laser point.

____

“I’m going to take out the packing, okay?” Dean asked and Cas nodded. “I’m sorry, man. I don’t want to hurt you.”

____

“I know,” Cas breathed. “Just do it.”

____

Dean eased out all the packing he’d put in the night before, feeling Cas’ every twitch beneath him. He bent lower to inspect the wound. “Looks good, Cas. No signs of infection and nothing looks like it’s bleeding.”

____

“Good. We should just be able to wrap it now and let it heal up.”

____

Dean nodded and went back to the backpacks to gather up gauze and tape. When he came back, he settled onto Cas’ lap again and Cas had to close eyes because _Jesus_ the weight of him felt so good. Dean made quick work of taping up the entrance wound and tapped Cas on the arm.

____

“Got to sit up so I can do the back.”

____

Cas cleared his throat and opened his eyes, forcing a neutral expression. “In case you hadn’t noticed, someone is sitting on me.”

____

“Oh trust me,” Dean said. “I noticed. But there’s plenty of room for you to sit up. Come on.” Dean grabbed hold of Cas’ uninjured shoulder and pulled him to sitting. Cas sucked in a breath because sitting up brought them chest to chest and Dean was so warm. As he leaned forward to tape up the exit wound, Cas gave into the urge to turn his face into Dean’s neck. He smelled a little sweet like the bourbon but there was also just the natural warm, masculine scent of his skin. Before it had permission from his brain, Cas’ tongue ran over the skin of Dean’s neck before he closed his lips over it to suck.

____

“Fuck,” Dean breathed and Cas felt emboldened. His hands landed on Dean’s thighs and moved up to his hips, all while his lips and teeth continued to devour the skin of Dean’s neck.

____

“Off,” Cas growled when he reached them hem of Dean’s t-shirt. Dean didn’t seem in a mood to disagree because he immediately grabbed his shirt and ripped it off over his head.

____

“Thank fucking god,” he said, reaching down to tip Cas’ head back so they could actually kiss. They were silent for a while, just kissing and touching. Cas’ fingers were digging deep into the meat of Dean’s hip and Dean moaned at the contact. “I thought you were never  going to catch a fucking clue.”

____

“I was exhibiting restraint,” Cas panted as Dean writhed in his lap.

____

“It’s the end of the fucking world, man. Now’s not the time for restraint.” Dean bent so he could kiss Cas again and Cas leaned up into it, shifting his grip to Dean’s ass so he could pull him closer. Part of him was screaming about what a bad idea this was - they were drunk and had known each other all of two days - but the pull he felt toward Dean was undeniable. He _wanted_ this, wanted to feel alive and _normal_ again, even if just for a little bit.

____

“C’mon,” Dean breathed, biting Cas’ full lower lip. “Get your pants off.”

____

Cas laughed. “Again, someone is sitting on me. My mobility is limited.”

____

Dean made a disgusted noise and finally moved off Cas before shoving him back down to a prone position and reaching for the button of Cas’ jeans.

____

“Dean,” Cas asked conversationally, but the other man was focused on his task. Cas pushed himself up onto his uninjured arm and looked down a Dean, amusement lighting his blue eyes. “Dean,” he said again more forcefully.

____

“ _What_ ” He looked up at Cas in irritation.

____

“Do you have some sort of medical kink I should know about?”

____

“The fuck, man? I’m tryna get your damn pants off. It wasn’t this hard when you were bleeding!”

____

“Take a look at your hands.” Dean scowled down at his hands, clearly frustrated, and then his expression grew sheepish.

____

“Ha,” he said, snapping off first one glove and then the other. “No medical kink. Although,” he lifted one eyebrow and smirked. “I’m not opposed to experimentation.

____

Cas rolled his eyes and flopped back down to the couch, Dean’s soft laugh warming him. Dean finished getting Cas’ pants off and then stood to take off his own. As he moved back toward the couch, Cas spread his legs and reached out to pull Dean down on top of him. He groaned when Dean’s erection pressed against his own and he rocked his hips up into the friction.

____

Where they had been frantic before, their pace was almost languid now. They rocked against each other, revelling the the pull of skin against skin. Cas let Dean lead, just wallowing in the sensations the other man was drawing from his body. He let his mind quiet and just let himself feel. Let the bliss that was winding through his body like warm honey temporarily erase the anguish and fear of the last year.

____

They shifted slowly, Cas maneuvering Dean under him so he could explore the broad plane of his chest, the gorgeous, tapered length of his abdomen. Dean’s moans were beautiful as he wound his fingers through Cas’ too-long dark hair, urging him on with gentle pressure, and Cas went willingly, taking Dean into his mouth. When Cas reached between his own legs to jerk himself off, Dean tugged on his hair.

____

“Don’t you dare. I wanna blow you next.”

____

Cas pulled off and grinned up at Dean. “Well, if you insist,” he said before putting his hand back where it had been resting on Dean’s chest and going back to work.

____

“I do,” Dean groaned. “You’ve got a beautiful fucking cock ‘n I wanna get real up close and personal with it.”

____

Cas showed his appreciation of this statement by speeding up his motions, pressing the flat of his tongue against the shaft as he moved. Above him, Dean’s breaths were coming in aborted little gasps, a sound satisfyingly close to a whimper in between each.

____

“Gonna come,” he said a minute or so later. “Fuck.” Cas pulled off and took Dean in his fist, jerking him hard and fast and Dean arched up off the couch. “Oh fuck, fuck…” And then all his muscles locked up as he came. Cas stroked him through it and then took him back into his mouth, making Dean twitch bodily and hum in sated pleasure.

____

Cas pushed himself up so he was kneeling between Dean’s spread legs and traced his hands up and down Dean’s thighs. Just a little soothing touch to ground him as he came down from his high. And tracing the beautiful, solid lines of Dean’s body with his eyes, seeing Dean’s clear satisfaction, made ignoring his own erection easy for the time being.

____

When Dean’s breathing finally evened out and he was with it enough to open his eyes, he didn’t waste any time pouncing on Cas, wrestling him onto his back. Carefully, though, mindful of Cas’ wounds, and slid down Cas’ body, pausing to tease his nipples into hard peaks.

____

Cas groaned loudly when Dean’s mouth closed over him. It had been so long since he’d had such an intimate touch, much longer than a year, and he felt instantly undone by it. His heels dug into the couch cushion and his legs spread wider. Dean made the most gorgeous, primal sound Cas had ever heard and shifted so that Cas’ thighs were over his shoulders, being pushed back and held open by Dean’s body.

____

“Oh, Jesus… I’m not…” He didn’t want to come, yet, wanted to ride this wave of utter bliss for a little longer, but Dean was so incredibly hot and fearsomely good at blow jobs. Cas was so turned on that he barely lasted a minute. He warned Dean that he was about to come, but Dean only groaned and kept going until Cas was coming in his mouth.

____

Cas was panting hard and he rolled his eyes when Dean’s smug expression came into view.

____

“Been a while, huh?” Dean asked.

____

“Probably longer than you think.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “That was still pretty embarrassing.”

____

Dean shrugged and moved Cas’ body around until there was enough room for both of them to lay there, as long as Dean was mostly draped across Cas’ body. “Felt good to me. Get some shut eye, we’re gonna head out early. Didn’t mean to spend all day here.”

____

It wasn’t hard to comply with that order. He was loose from orgasm and still not completely sober and exhausted from pain and walking. He had only a brief moment to look down at Dean, his cheek pressed inelegantly against Cas’ chest, making his lips pooch out. Cas knew for a fact he was going to get drooled on, but he couldn’t really work up any ire about it. Still looking at the sweep of Dean’s cheekbones, Cas fell asleep fast.

____

:::::::

____

Cas woke slowly the next morning, in a way he hadn’t in a long, long time. His shoulder and thigh were both throbbing in pain, but even that seemed distant to the langor he felt. It was wonderful and he floated blissfully for a moment before memories of the past night came barreling into his consciousness.

____

His eyes snapped open and he was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was alone. His nice warm Dean blanket had been replaced with something crocheted that wasn’t nearly as warm or comfortable. Hoping against hope, Cas opened his eyes and looked around the room. He didn’t see Dean, but he sighed in relief when he saw Dean’s backpack leaning against the wall next to his own. Did Dean remember last night? Did he regret it or was Cas just another notch on his bedpost? Cas hoped Dean remembered and didn’t regret it, but he wasn’t sure how he felt about being simply a conquest. Actually he did know and it made him uncomfortable. Even if it was a one off, he hoped it meant more to Dean than just another lay.

____

Turning all these thoughts over, he kicked off the blanket and hunted for his clothes, just pulling on the same thing he’d been wearing the day before. The well fitting jeans were a joy and he tried not to think about the dead man who used to wear them. Meeting Dean and finding out that there was a community that needed him made him want to hope for a future, but scavenging from the dead always made him uncomfortable. He preferred to take his clothes from clothing stores when he could.

____

He was buttoning up his jeans when the back door banged open and he looked up, startled. He couldn’t see from where he was, so he rushed forward into the kitchen to see Dean closing the door behind him. Dean caught his eye and winced.

____

“Sorry, I wanted to let you sleep,” Dean said. There was a rabbit hanging from one hand and a bunch of greens from the other.

____

“No, it’s fine. I needed to take my medication anyway.” Cas wandered away to the living room to take his pain med and antibiotic. “Do you catch your breakfast every morning?” he yelled as dug his pills out of his bag. He tipped out a couple of oxy and an antibiotic, realizing only then that he’d missed taking his medication last night.

____

“Generally,” Dean called back. “When I’m out on reconnaissance, especially. Back at camp we’ve got better stores and I don’t have to.”

____

Cas wandered back into the kitchen in time to see Dean set down the knife he’d been using on the rabbit. Then he was totally shocked as Dean grabbed ahold of the skin and yanked. The fur peeled back cleanly, revealing the dark red meat beneath.

____

He clapped a hand over his mouth. “Oh my god,” he muttered and Dean shot him a grin.

____

“Come on, Doc, you’ve dissected humans, right?”

____

“Yeah,” Cas agreed. “But I’ve never seen anything skinned like that. Oh Jesus.” He turned away and leaned against the doorway. “Can I have my breakfast vegetarian?”

____

“No,” Dean said. “You need the protein and I don’t have any other handy sources of it available. Besides, where do you think the ‘beef stew’ part of your Dinty Moore came from? Flowers?”

____

“No,” Cas growled. “But seeing it happen… animal slaughter was always a terribly abstract part of my life.”

____

Cas heard Dean chuckle. “City boy,” Dean murmured softly and Cas huffed a laugh. He was a city boy, there was no denying it. He’d bought his organic chicken in neatly wrapped packages of chicken parts. He’d never had to think about it as a whole animal. But watching Dean skin that rabbit… that had been more farm to table than he’d ever wanted to get.

____

“You look practiced at that,” Cas said, finally chancing a glance back at Dean and what he was doing, and Dean snorted.

____

“I skinned my first rabbit at five. I’m just a little bit older than that, now.” Dean paused in what he was doing and turned to look at Cas. “You should learn how to do this."

____

“Oh,” Cas said, wondering how he could gracefully back out. “No. Thanks, but… we’ve all got our skills, right? And this one isn’t mine.”

____

“Nah,” Dean scoffed. “Anyone can butcher a rabbit. Look, it’s already even gutted.” Dean thumbed at the slice in the rabbit’s abdomen and Cas had to clench his teeth in order not to retch.

____

“Mm, that’s great."

____

“C’mere, you giant wuss,” Dean laughed and grabbed Cas’ arm. Cas squawked as Dean got blood on his shirt, but then he was before the rabbit and Dean slapped a knife into his hand. “The thigh meat comes up to about here,” Dean said, drawing a line across the meat with his finger. Cut through, follow the curve of the pelvis and then cut through the joint.”

____

Cas stared down at the rabbit for a long moment before taking a deep breath and gathering himself. He could definitely do this. He pressed his fingers along the muscles of the rabbit’s leg, determining where the thigh actually ended. Beside him, Dean chuckled.

____

“I said butcher it, Cas, not feel it up.”

____

“I’m learning the muscular structure,” he said seriously. When he was done palpating, he adjusted his grip on the knife and made a few slices to cut through the meat, and when the joint was exposed, he put the tip of his knife in between the joints and twisted, like popping the shell on an oyster. He lay the thigh and knife aside and looked up at Dean. “So, how was that for a city boy?”

____

“Not bad,” Dean drawled, looking impressed. “Think you might have had some advantage with all that medical training, though.”

____

Cas laughed and, feeling emboldened, continued to butcher the rabbit. “It’s been about twenty years since I’ve dissected anything. Gross anatomy, year one, and that was all she wrote.”

____

Dean’s forehead srunched up in concern. “Shouldn’t a doctor’s training involve a little more than that?”

____

“Don’t worry,” Cas said, running his fingers around the rabbit’s shoulder, feeling the edge of the scapula and inserting his knife behind it so the whole leg would come off in one piece. “We get plenty of other training. Besides, I wasn’t training as a surgeon. I always knew I wanted to go into research.”

____

He finished the last cut on the rabbit and put down the knife before stepping back and gesturing toward it. “Well, Mr. I’m-pretty-good-at-this-whole-survival-thing. How’d I do?”

____

Dean looked over the pieces and shook his head. Cas was momentarily crestfallen, but then Dean said, “I gotta say, man: I’m deeply impressed and I’m not an easy guy to impress. You pick up actual doctoring half as fast as that and we’re set.”

____

With that, Dean clapped him on the shoulder before gathering up the butchered rabbit and heading back outside. Cas blinked after him. He’d expected there to be at least a little bit of awkwardness this morning, but it was like it never happened. Did that mean Dean had been so drunk that he didn’t remember? No, Cas thought. Dean hadn’t been sober, but he hadn’t been blackout drunk, either. Which left the possibility that it just hadn’t meant anything at all to him.

____

_Or_ , that part of Castiel’s brain that was always ready to play Devil’s advocate thought, _he’s comfortable with what happened._ That was certainly possible. Cas had been braced for awkwardness, but he hadn’t felt awkward himself. He was, he realized, projecting his expectations onto Dean. What he really needed to do was to read Dean’s actual behavior, and so far, Dean had been totally relaxed and happy.

____

Confident in his assessment, Cas followed Dean’s earlier path out of the house and found him in the backyard, presiding over what was in Cas’ opinion and unnecessarily large and blazing fire.

____

“That’s not safe,” Cas blurted and Dean turned an indolent expression his way.

____

“Thanks, Cas. I’ll be sure to add Fire Marshall to your skill set. I’m not particularly worried about it, though.” He turned back to where the rabbit pieces were all skewered on two different sticks held up by yet more sticks in a bracket assembly. It was an obvious solution to cooking meat over an open fire, but Cas wasn’t sure it ever would have occurred to him. It reminded him again how ill-suited he was to this new world, despite having survived a year in it.

____

“It just seems imprudent,” Cas said, sitting down beside Dean. “What if you burned yourself?”

____

Dean laughed and shook his head. “Have you always been this big of a worrywart?”

____

Cas rested his arms on his knees and considered the question as Dean rearranged the rabbit on its stick spit so that a different side was facing the heat of the fire. “No, actually. I was never particularly reckless, but I never worried as much as I do, now. I obsess over everything…” His brow furrowed in displeasure as he considered this. He’d always been extremely detail oriented in his work - he had to be - but outside of that, he’d been pretty laid back and flexible. He’d been willing to let Hannah play and fall and eat her pound of dirt without hovering. But since society had fallen, he had become almost relentlessly focused on his health and well-being. He’d treated every scratch as though it was a life threatening situation and attended to them assiduously. That made him think about his gunshot wounds and his horror when Dean had suggested superglue to close up the wound on his thigh. There was nothing wrong with using superglue and he would have used or suggested it himself in an emergency situation a year ago, but the thought of not using something designed specifically for medical intervention terrified him. “I’ve become _fearful_ ,” he spat. “Timid, which isn’t something I ever associated with myself. For Christ’s sake, I…” He stopped short and put his hand over his eyes, massaging his temple with his thumb. “Fuck. I fucking _hate_ this.”

____

Cas was startled to feel Dean’s hand on his back, rubbing up and down, but he still let himself take comfort from it.

____

“I get it. The whole fucking world exploded and here you are with none of the things that you’ve come to rely on and everyone you loved and relied on is gone. And you’ve got no fucking clue why you survived when they didn’t.”

____

“It’s a genetic fluke that made us immune…” Cas started and Dean cut him off.

____

“I get that. I was homeschooled, I’m not a moron. I read. The Guardian, even.” Cas huffed a laugh and Dean continued. “But like I was saying, you’ve got this bedrock that holds up your life and it’s comprised of siblings and spouses and friends and whatever else, and then this fucking super-mutating super-virus comes along and razes ninety percent of the population and suddenly everyone you’ve ever known…” Dean paused to take a deep breath. “Suddenly they’re all gone.” His voice cracked and Cas dropped his hand to look at him. He was staring into the middle distance and his eyes were bright with unshed tears. Cas took a chance and put his hand on Dean’s knee. “It affects us all in different ways,” Dean continued, “but it affects us all.”

____

Cas squeezed Dean’s knee and the other man blinked and offered a crooked half smile. He wanted to ask Dean how the end of the world had changed him, but he realized he didn’t want to know. He was afraid of the answer. Cas still hadn’t forgotten how easily Dean had killed three men.

____

“Maybe we can make a new bedrock,” Cas ventured. “Maybe Storm Lake can be a new family.”

____

“It is,” Dean agreed immediately. “We’ve built something important, but…. But it’s not the original.”

____

“No,” Cas said, grief swelling briefly. “Nothing ever will be, I guess. But we can’t live groundless. We need something in which to moor ourselves. We need to make new friends, forge new relationships.”

____

Dean chuckled. “Guy I knew, he was like a father to me outside the compound. He used to say that family don’t end in blood. I knew it then, but now it’s more vital than ever. Almost nobody has any blood anymore, but we’ve still got to make family.” Dean put his hand over Cas’ where it still rested on Dean’s knee. “Ready to go meet your new family?”

____

“Yeah,” Cas said and turned his hand so he could grip Dean’s. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

____

**Author's Note:**

> Cas comes across the body of a teenage girl who's been raped and murdered. Nothing is graphic.


End file.
